The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 126

Chapter 126: 126 | At This Table, ’Legal’ is a Fluid Concept

The card expanded, filling my vision with golden light. I felt a warm weight materialize in my mental inventory, like a presence that was somehow both foreign and familiar. Knowledge flooded my mind - how to grip the staff, how to extend and contract the sections, the basic forms for three-section staff combat.

The weapon itself didn’t physically appear, remaining stored in my inventory until I chose to manifest it. But I could feel its potential, the way it would amplify my strength and give me reach and versatility that my current loadout lacked.

With Spectral Reach for ranged combat, Blitz for mobility, Lightning Cloak for burst damage, and now Joyful Cloud for sustained melee combat, I was starting to feel like I might actually thrive in what was coming at Halloran.

Assuming anyone there could survive me.

The sound of voices from downstairs reminded me that I still needed to shower and get dressed. Whatever Sloane and Diane were making for dinner, I was definitely going to need the energy. Recovery time between rounds was getting shorter, but my appetite afterward was getting bigger.

I headed for my bathroom, stripping off what little clothing I’d bothered to put on after leaving Diane’s room. The shower was exactly what I needed - hot water washing away sweat and the lingering scent of sex, giving me a few minutes to process everything that had happened.

Three hours ago I’d been worried about convincing Sloane to accept sharing me with her mother. Now I had both of them committed to an arrangement that the System was calling a Family Accord, complete with truth-detection protocols that would punish me for lying to them.

The smart thing would be to worry about how much control I was losing, how many variables I was adding to an already complicated situation. But as I stood under the hot water, all I could think about was the way Sloane had looked at me when I told her our kids would be cute, and the way Diane had moaned when I smacked her ass on the way out of the room.

Maybe losing control wasn’t always a bad thing.

I finished washing and got dressed, running a towel through my hair as I headed back downstairs. The kitchen smelled like garlic and something Italian, and I could hear both women talking in low voices as they worked.

When I walked in, they’d clearly made an effort to look more presentable. Sloane had borrowed one of Diane’s casual dresses and tied her pink hair back in a ponytail. Diane was wearing yoga pants and a fitted top, her hair twisted up in a messy bun. They both looked like they’d just had really good sex and were trying to pretend they hadn’t.

"What’s for dinner?" I asked, leaning against the counter.

"Pasta," Sloane said without looking up from where she was stirring something on the stove. "Mom’s making her famous marinara sauce."

"It’s not famous, it’s just good," Diane corrected from where she was slicing bread.

"It’s famous in this house."

I watched them work together, noting how they’d fallen into an easy rhythm despite everything that had happened. Sloane handling the pasta, Diane managing the sauce and sides, both of them moving around each other like they’d been doing this for years.

Which, I realized, they probably had. Before I’d arrived and complicated everything.

"Need any help?" I offered.

"You can set the table," Diane said. "And open some wine. I think we all deserve a drink after today."

I got plates and silverware from the appropriate cabinets, muscle memory from nine years of living here guiding my movements. Strange to think that this morning I’d been worried about Sloane’s reaction to discovering my relationship with her mother. Now we were about to sit down for family dinner like this was perfectly normal.

The wine Diane had requested turned out to be a bottle of something expensive from her personal collection. She poured generous glasses for all three of us, including Sloane, which raised my eyebrows.

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